On her side Miss Anna surveyed the delicate refinement of her visitor; the black dress so plain, yet so faultless; the mass of brown hair, which even after a night’s railway journey was still perfectly dressed, no doubt by the maid without whom these fine ladies never venture themselves abroad; the rings which sparkled on the thin fingers; the single string of pearls, which alone relieved the severity of the black bodice.  She noticed the light, distinguished figure, the beauty of the small head; and her hostility waxed within her.  John’s smart friend belonged to the pampered ones of the earth, and Miss Anna did not intend to be taken in by her, not for a moment.

‘Mr. Fenwick has been terribly overworked,’ Eugenie repeated, colouring against her will, ’and yesterday he was quite broken down by your letter.  It seemed too much for him.  You will understand, I’m sure.  When a person is so weak, they shrink—­don’t they?—­even from what they most desire.  And so he asked me—­to—­to come and tell Mrs. Fenwick something about his health, and his circumstances these last two years—­just to prepare the way.  There is so much—­isn’t there?—­Mrs. Fenwick cannot yet know; and I’m afraid—­it will pain her to hear.’

The speaker’s voice faltered and ceased.  She felt through every nerve that she was in a false position, and wondered how she was to mend it.

’Do I understand you that John Fenwick is coming to see his wife to-night?’ said Miss Mason at last, in a voice of battle.

‘He arrives by the afternoon train,’ said Eugenie, looking at her questioner with a slight frown of perplexity.

‘What is the matter with him?’ said Miss Anna, dryly.

Eugenie hesitated; then she bent forward, the colour rushing again into her cheeks.

’I think’—­her voice was low and hurried, and she looked round her to see that the door was shut and they were really alone—­’I think it has been an attack of depression—­perhaps—­perhaps melancholia.  He has had great misfortunes and disappointments.  Unfortunately, my father and I were abroad, and did not understand.  But, thank God!’—­she clasped her hands involuntarily—­’I got home yesterday—­I went to see him—­just in time—­’

She paused, looking at her companion as though she asked for the understanding which would save her further words.  But Miss Anna sat puzzled and cold.

‘Just in time?’ she repeated.

‘I didn’t understand at first,’ said Eugenie, with emotion; ’I only saw that he was ill and terribly broken.  But he has told me since—­in a letter I got just before I started.  And I want you to advise me—­to tell me whether you think Mrs. Fenwick should know—­’

‘Know what?’ cried Miss Anna.

Madame de Pastourelles bent forward again, and said a few words under her breath.

Anna Mason recoiled.

‘Horrible!’ she said; ‘and—­and so cowardly!  So like a man!’

Eugenie could not help a tremulous smile; then she resumed: